


The Great Turkey Calamity

by sunsetmagnolia



Series: RWRB-verse [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Red White & Royal Blue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmagnolia/pseuds/sunsetmagnolia
Summary: Cornbread and Stuffing, from the prince's pov instead of the first son's
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin
Series: RWRB-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934509
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	The Great Turkey Calamity

It’s about 3 in the morning and Ashton is functioning on about an hour of sleep over the past day and a half, so he’s not sure he’s reading the text correctly.

_THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF 5 STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH._

Michael is always dramatic, but this is almost worse than normal. He’d received a series of texts throughout the night informing him that, if he was unaware (which he had very much been), the turkeys to be pardoned for Thanksgiving every year get a suite at a fancy hotel the night before their pardon and the taxpayers pay for it, and that he wouldn’t stand for it, and that he was on a mission to convince his mother to house them somewhere cheaper. A couple hours ago, he’d triumphantly told Ashton that the turkeys, named Cornbread and Stuffing for some bizarre reason, would be staying in cages in his bedroom. Ashton hadn’t been about to try to convince him that was a bad idea.

 _Please send photos_ , Ashton replies. He’s trying to picture Michael in the same room as two giant birds but he’s sure it’s not nearly as funny as the real thing. Michael sends him a picture in low lighting – surely so that Michael can keep an eye on the birds as he tries to sleep – of a turkey that looks rather soulless, and very big. _I think he’s cute_ , Ashton sends back.

_that’s because you can’t hear all the menacing gobbling_

_Yes, famously the most sinister of all animal sounds, the gobble._

Ashton is still smiling down at his phone when it starts buzzing in his hand with an incoming call, and he carefully sets his face back to neutral before remembering Michael can’t see him, and neither can anyone else. He answers, and before he can even say hello, Michael is swearing at him. “You know what, you bitch, you can hear for yourself and then tell me how you would—”

“Michael? Have you really called me at three o’clock in the morning to make me listen to a turkey?”

“Yes, obviously.” Michael pauses and Ashton can hear vague shuffling noises. “Jesus, it’s like they can see into your soul. Cornbread knows my sins, Ashton. Cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”

Ashton feels like maybe Cornbread is also there to make _him_ atone, though for what, he couldn’t say. Michael sounding hysterical on the other end of the phone has him caught between laughing and feeling sorry for himself. He gives up trying to relax and sits up in bed. “Alright, let’s hear the cursed gobble.”

“Okay,” Michael says. “Brace yourself.” The sound goes a bit fuzzy and Ashton assumes he’s been put on speaker, but he doesn’t hear anything. Ten seconds go by and still, nothing.

“Truly harrowing,” Ashton says.

“Shut up, this is not representative.” Michael sounds annoyed, although only minutes earlier he was scared of the noise. Ashton can’t believe how he’s started to make sense of Michael’s insane logic. “They’ve been gobbling all fucking night, I swear.”

“Sure they were,” he replies, mock-gently.

“No, hang on. I’m gonna… I’m gonna get one to gobble.” Ashton doesn’t tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have a pressing need to hear a turkey gobble this early in the morning, because there’s no stopping Michael when he feels he’s got a point to prove. “Um, how do you get a turkey to gobble?”

Ashton almost laughs. “Try gobbling,” he says. “And see if he gobbles back.”

“Are you serious?” Michael asks.

“We hunt loads of wild turkeys in the spring,” Ashton lies. “The trick is to get into the mind of the turkey.”

“How the fuck do I do that?”

Ashton puts on a teaching voice in an attempt to keep from laughing. “So, do as I say. You have to get quite close to the turkey, physically.”

“Okay,” Michael whispers.

“Make eye contact with the turkey. Do you have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, now hold it. Connect with the turkey, earn the turkey’s trust… befriend the turkey…”

“Okay…”

“Buy a summer home in Majorca with the turkey…”

“Oh, I fucking hate you!” Michael shouts. Through Ashton’s laughter, he hears a loud gobble, followed by a startled scream. “Dammit, did you hear that?”

“Sorry, what?” Ashton asks between peals of laughter. “I’ve been stricken deaf.”

“You’re such a dick,” Michael says. “Have you ever even _been_ turkey hunting?”

“You can’t even hunt them in Britain.”

Michael groans. “I hope Cornbread does kill me.”

Ashton’s laughter softens into something terrifyingly close to endearment. “No, I did hear it, and it was proper frightening. Where’s Calum for all this?”

“With his grandparents for the night. When I texted for backup, he sent back,” Michael reads the message verbatim in a monotone, “ ‘hahahahahahahahahaha good luck with that,’ and then a turkey emoji and a poop emoji.”

“Fair enough. So what are you going to do now? Are you going to stay up all night with them?”

“I don’t know, I guess! I don’t know what else to do!”

Ashton snorts. “You can’t go sleep somewhere else? Aren’t there a thousand rooms at that house?”

“Okay, but what if they escape? I’ve seen Jurassic Park. Did you know birds are directly descended from raptors? That’s a scientific fact. Raptors in my bedroom, Ashton. And you want me to go to sleep like they’re not gonna bust out of their cages and take over the island the minute I close my eyes? Okay. Maybe your royal ass.”

“I’m really going to have you offed,” Ashton tells him seriously despite shaking his head. “You’ll never see it coming. Our assassins are trained in discretion. They will come in the middle of the night and it will look like a humiliating accident.”

“Autoerotic asphyxiation?” Michael asks, and Ashton nearly loses track of what he was going to say.

“Toilet heart attack.”

“Jesus.”

You’ve been warned.”

“I thought you’d kill me in a more personal way. Silk pillow over my face, slow and gentle suffocation. Just you and me. Sensual.”

Ashton can feel his face getting warm. “Ha. Well.” He coughs.

“Anyway,” Michael says. “It doesn’t matter because one of these goddamn turkeys is gonna kill me first.”

“I really don’t think—oh hello there.” He interrupts himself to give his dog a good scratch on the head when he leaps onto the bed. “Who’s a good boy?” He pats the bed next to him and his dog curls up there, still nuzzling him for head pats. “David says hello,” he says to Michael.

“Hi, David,” Michael says.

“He— Not for you, Mr. Wobbles! Those are _mine!_ ” He reaches out for the cat, who has his teeth around one end of the packet of Jaffa Cakes. “ _No,_ Mr. Wobbles, you bastard!” He manages to grab the end of the packet and tear them away, earning an offended meow from the cat. Ashton sighs, tucking the packet under the covers next to him so neither of the animals can get to it.

“What in the fuck is a Mr. Wobbles?” Michael asks.

“My sister’s idiot cat,” Ashton says. “The thing weighs a ton and still tries to steal my Jaffa Cakes. He and David are mates.”

“What are you even doing right now?”

“What am I doing?” I was trying to _sleep_.”

“Okay but you’re eating Jabba Cakes, so.”

“ _Jaffa_ Cakes, my god. I’m having my entire life haunted by a deranged American Neanderthal and a pair of turkeys, apparently.”

“And?”

Ashton sighs again. Michael is determined to make this night the end of his life, it would seem. “And, don’t laugh.”

“Oh, yay,” Michael says gleefully.

“I was watching the Great British Bake Off.”

“Cute, but not embarrassing. What else?”

“I, er, might be wearing one of those peely face masks,” he finishes quickly.

“Oh my god, I knew it!” Michael cackles.

“Instant regret.”

“I knew you had one of those crazy expensive Scandinavian skin care regimens. Do you have that, like, eye cream with diamonds in it? Sheep placentas?”

“No!” Ashton pouts. “Look, I have an appearance tomorrow, alright? I didn’t know I’d be _scrutinized_.”

“I’m not scrutinizing. We all gotta keep our pores in check,” Michael says. “So you like Bake Off, huh?”

“It’s just so soothing,” Ashton says. “Everything’s all pastel-coloured and the music is so relaxing and everyone is lovely to one another. And you learn so much about different types of cakes and biscuits, Michael. So much. When the world seems awful, such as when you’re trapped in a Great Turkey Calamity, you can put it on and vanish into biscuit land.”

“American cooking competition shows are nothing like that. They’re all sweaty and dramatic death music and intense camera cuts. Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”

“I feel like this explains loads of our differences,” Ashton says, and Michael gives a small laugh.

“You know,” Michael says. “You’re kind of surprising.”

Ashton pauses. “In what way?”

“In that you’re not a totally boring asshole.”

“Wow,” Ashton says with a laugh. “I’m honoured.”

“I guess you have your depths.”

“You thought I was a dumb blond, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly, just _boring_. I mean, your dog is named David, which is pretty boring.”

“After Bowie,” Ashton says. He’s never thought of it as a strange thing, not to mention he’s always thought it was funny when pets have human names.

“I—” Michael says and pauses. “Are you serious? What the hell?” Why not call him Bowie then?”

“Bit on the nose isn’t it? A man should have some element of mystery.” David, as if he agrees, cuddles up to Ashton’s side.

“I guess,” Michael says, followed by a yawn.

“Michael,” Ashton says firmly.

“What?”

“The turkeys are not going to Jurassic Park you. You’re not the bloke from Seinfeld. You’re Jeff Goldblum. Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” Michael says, sounding like he’s trying not to smile.

Ashton rolls his eyes and half smiles himself. “I will,” he says. “As soon as you get off the phone, won’t I?”

“Okay, but what if they gobble again?”

“Go sleep in Calum’s room, you numpty.”

“Okay,” Michael says.

“Okay,” Ashton agrees, wondering if Michael isn’t hanging up for the same reason he’s not. Ashton has been very aware that this is the first time they’ve ever properly spoken on the phone since the moment he picked up, but maybe Michael wasn’t until now.

“Okay,” Michael says again.

“Okay,” Ashton repeats gently. “Good night.”

“Cool, good night.” Michael hangs up, leaving Ashton staring at his phone, wondering if he just imagined that whole thing.

Ashton crawls out of bed without disturbing David and takes off the face mask, putting the Jaffa Cakes into drawer before rinsing his face and returning to bed. He picks up his phone again and sees another text from Michael.

_I sent pics of turkeys so I deserve pics of your animals too_

Ashton sends back a selfie with David tucked into his side and Mr. Wobbles curled around a stray Jaffa Cake wrapper on his pillow. He tries not to look too lovelorn, but if this is how he reacts after one phone call with Michael, maybe it’s a good thing they don’t speak more. _This is what I must endure_ , he sends, followed by _Good night, honestly._ He assumes Michael goes to sleep after that, because he doesn't get a reply back for hours.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't see me writing the whole thing like this but I kept thinking about these turkeys and I had to commit to two characters for the babes alex & henry and so it became mashton because of course it did


End file.
